


Flashback

by hiikigane



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: (how do tags work), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Abuse, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiikigane/pseuds/hiikigane
Summary: Fleshing out some of the events that happened "off-screen" and therefore weren't the main focus of the movie--like how Tina lost her job by trying to protect Credence.





	Flashback

            From his position in the kitchen, Credence can hear Chastity’s lilting, melodious voice as she leads the children in giving thanks for the meal. Ma doesn’t let her preach sermons on the street—that’s an honour she has yet to work her way up to—but she trusts Chastity to make sure that the leaflets are handed out and that the children aren’t slacking off. It’s a sin to feel this way, but he’s jealous of their relationship. Nothing he does is ever right in Ma’s eyes, and he can feel Chastity pulling away from him as his mistakes pile up. A part of him that understands that Chastity is also trying to protect herself, to prevent Ma from directing her wrath at her, but sometimes he catches a flash of contempt in her expression when she slinks out of the room just before he is about to be punished, and he wonders if she also believes that he deserves everything he’s getting. She has never raised a hand against him, but she has never tried to defend him either, and her silence speaks volumes on nights when he’s curled up in the darkest corner in the attic, trying to stifle the sounds of his sobs.

            Like right now. He’s been banished to the kitchen, out of sight of the orphans the NSPS feeds, because he accidentally burned the loaf of bread he was supposed to be preparing. He knows he’s going to be in trouble later, but knowing what’s coming doesn’t make him feel any better. He listens to the swell of voices in the next room and pictures himself being carried away by a tide of inconsequential chatter, drifting far away from this mess of a life.

            “Remember—talk to people! Spread the word! Let them know when we meet!” The noise is interspersed with clatters and bangs as people push away from the table, shuffle their leaflets, preparing to head out.

             Credence wishes he could talk. But when facing down a group of strangers, all the words he so painstakingly rehearsed in his room—“ _Good day Sir, can I interest you in a gathering of the New Salem Philanthropic Society about the perils of witchcraft in society”—_ evaporate, and he is left staring mutely at them, holding out a piece of paper that most people pretend not to see. He wishes he wasn’t so scared of their reactions, but some people can get awfully angry if they’re interrupted, and he doesn’t know enough to identify the people who are bound to get angry so he can avoid them.

             There’s a lot he doesn’t know. He’s not very smart.

             There is a muffled thud as the last of the footsteps fade and the door swings shut. Now there is just one set of footsteps walking across the kitchen floor, coming to a halt in front of where he is sitting. A pair of hardy, lace-up boots enters his vision and he raises his head a little higher. Mary Lou stares dispassionately down at him, her hand extended. It’s time.

            His hands shake, just a little, as he reaches to his waist and unclasps the belt.

* * *

                        

            Queenie flits down the busy streets, humming to herself. She should have been back in the office thirty-five minutes ago, but her colleagues will cover for her—it’s not like they haven’t taken off on longer than usual lunch breaks before, gallivanting across town to meet with secret lovers. Compared to Tina’s Big, Important job in the Auror Office, which plays a direct role in keeping wizarding America safe, her role as a paper pusher in the Wand Permit Office is just a formality. The only applications they ever process are those by visiting diplomats, who are obligated to respect American laws by sending in an application. Foreigners travelling through New York are usually surprised that they have to do such a thing at all, and hardly ever bother with it unless directly confronted by someone from MACUSA. Personally, Queenie thinks that most wizards in this day and age have enough common sense not to go performing magic in front of the No-Maj, and common sense is usually a perfectly good tool for regulating behaviour. The security breach had happened more than a hundred years ago, after all. Oh well. As long as the job didn’t get in the way of her having a good time.

           She’s just deciding whether or not to stock up on some ingredients for dinner when her eye is drawn to a lone figure skulking around the entrance to an alleyway. Both magical and non-magical New Yorkers move like they’re encased in a protective bubble, eyes fixed on a point at around shoulder height as they allow their feet to carry them to their destination. This boy doesn’t seem to understand the unspoken rule, and his gaze skitters around as he struggles to make eye contact with the people walking past. Queenie starts to make her way over to him—there’s something about his demeanor that reminds her of a lost child, even though he’s tall and hulking and up close, taller than her, even when she’s in heels. She begins the complicated process of tuning out her surroundings while focusing on him, so she can hear his thoughts.

          The flood of images and sound that crash into her brain almost leave her in tears.

          She’s standing in front of him by now, and she can see that he’s trying very hard to meet her gaze, but can only manage to look at her for a few seconds before his gaze drifts back down to the floor. Finally, he thrusts a piece of paper at her and mutters something that sounds like “please come” before turning away.

         Queenie looks down at the leaflet, taking in its bold drawing, the meeting place and the name written under “contact person”.  There is something familiar about the name, but there’s no reason why a No-Maj name like that should be familiar to her. And that boy had to be a No-Maj, albeit a poor one. No wizard would stand in the streets trying to pass out leaflets by hand when they could easily send copies by owl or even telegram—MACUSA might be adamant about preventing interaction with the No-Maj, but they were quick to take up technological developments on the other side. Perhaps she should ask Tina.

         “Hey, give me a few more of those papers.”

          The boy looks startled. He’s unused to people taking leaflets from him, let alone asking for extra copies. But he mutely peels a few more copies from the pile and passes them to her.

         “More.”

          This earns her another puzzled look.

         “I’ll…tell my friends about the meeting,” Queenie improvises wildly. She just wants to take the leaflets off him—she’s seen the consequences of going home with his hands full and they’re not pretty. She wonders why he doesn’t just dump them somewhere. It’s what she plans to do with her share, since she can hardly hand these around the office.

         The boy looks at her in that strange, side-eyed way he has, comes to a decision and passes her the entire stack. She tries to give him a smile, but he’s gone back to staring at the ground again. The silence stretches between them, awkward and ballooning, until she finally breaks it. “Well, I gotta...” She slides into the stream of people passing on the street, clutching the leaflets to her chest, wondering where she’s heard the name before.

* * *

 

        “And so, I’ll be taking on Harold’s surveillance duties while he goes underground to investigate the dragon smugglers. I can’t believe he got the assignment. Harold’s one of the most sloppy investigators, and I may be new to the team, but I’m capable,” Tina fumes.

        “Seems like these smugglers expect to be dealing with a dragon tamer…they _are_ trying to traffick dragons from Bavaria, right? Aren’t dragon tamers usually huge pounds of muscle? Harold seems to fit the bill better than you,” Queenie points out.

        “That’s such a stereotype! All he has to do for surveillance is look in on that Scourer family occasionally and make sure they aren’t actually burning witches at their meetings.”

         Queenie feels a prickle of alarm at the mention of witch-burning. “What Scourer family?”

        “Oh, right… you remember the name of the witch who caused Rappaport’s Law to be passed?”

        “Teenie, you know I only managed to pass History of Magic by reading Professor Wilkins’ thoughts during exams.”

         Tina smiles affectionately. “Sometimes I wish I was a born Legilimens too. It would have saved me so many hours of studying. Well, the current law that prevents us from fraternising with the No-Maj population was passed because a witch, Dorcus Twelvetrees, leaked MACUSA secrets to a Scourer. She didn’t know he was one, of course, but the damage was done. The Scourer’s name was Bartholomew Barebone.”

         Queenie gasps. “ _Oh._ I saw the name Barebone on a bunch of flyers I got from a kid today. I thought the name seemed familiar.”

         "The Scourers’ descendants are spread all over the US, but there happens to be one group active in New York. They’re not as influential as they were in the past—the No-Maj are less receptive to the idea that witchcraft exists these days, not when they’re making such great technological progress and everything is driven by rational thought, but we still look in on them to make sure they haven’t really managed to find out anything about wizarding society. There are holes in their knowledge of magic and spells—you’d have to go back hundreds of years to find any magical ancestors, but if they’re spreading misinformation about wizards that’ll lead to No-Maj hysteria, we need to tamp down on it. From what I know, it’s more of a low-priority surveillance case.”

         Queenie sighs. “I met one today. A boy. I don’t know if Scourers usually treat their kids this way, but he was miserable. He was desperate to give out the flyers, because his mother would beat him if he went home with them. I hated seeing his thoughts.”

         Tina looks alarmed. “You met a Scourer and took flyers from him?”

         “I dumped them before I got back to the office. He didn’t seem to have any luck giving them out. The funny thing is, I think the threat of exposure is at its lowest in this day and age, even with the recent reports about that mysterious dark force swooping through New York. Religious paranoia and superstition are the farthest thing from most No-Maj’s minds, especially in a big city. But that makes this kid’s job harder. He faces a lot of pressure to spread the message.”

         Tina drums her fingers on the table. “I can check the file in the office on the New York-based Scourers. I’m not sure the office will want to get involved in this if there’s no direct threat to us. You say the boy is a Scourer himself?”

        “His thoughts were pretty chaotic and I didn’t ask for his name, but I think his mother is the person listed on the flyer as the contact person. Her name’s Mary Lou Barebone. So I guess he probably has the same surname.”

         “I doubt the name will show up in the database for magical families. Scourers do the exact opposite of what those old European families do—they try to filter out magic by marrying non-magical people and disowning those with magic. If he has the surname Barebone, then he probably is a No-Maj with Scourer heritage. I wonder if it could be a trap. I’d like to find out more, but it’s more likely he’ll be onto us if we start hanging around asking questions.”

         “They’re having a meeting in two days’ time at their church, at seven-thirty p.m.,” Queenie suddenly remembers. “Couldn’t you hang around the place a bit as part of surveillance?”

         “That’s right, the Barebone case is under my jurisdiction now!” Tina beams. “Harold can have his traffickers. I’ve got work to do!”

                       

* * *

        

        The church is silent and dark, and with every second that passes, Credence’s anxiety grows. It is seven twenty-five, and no one has shown up yet. Ma had been suspicious when he came back empty-handed two days ago. She hadn’t believed him when he said a lady in an expensive-looking pink coat had promised to pass the leaflets out to her friends. Maybe he was stretching the truth by saying “expensive-looking”, but she did look like a sociable person who had lots of friends. And she had approached him, instead of just brushing him off the way most people did.

          _But I don’t know if she’s really nice,_ he thought regretfully. _I don’t know how to read people. Maybe she was just pretending. The world is full of evil, after all. Maybe she lied._

         Modesty slips into the pew next to him, her small palm barely covering his own. She doesn’t say anything, but he appreciates her effort to make him feel better.

         Seven-thirty. Seven thirty-five. He wants to get up and pace, but he thinks his legs might collapse under the stress. Mary Lou remains seated behind the pulpit, occasionally looking at the clock. He doesn’t dare to meet her eyes; he can feel her silent reproach from where he is seated.  Either she thinks that he lied about giving out the leaflets, or that he’s foolishly fallen for someone’s lies and wasted an entire set of leaflets on someone who had no intention of showing up. _Why can’t you do anything right?_

        Mary Lou’s voice breaks the silence abruptly. “It’s seven forty-five. I think we’ve waited long enough.”

        Credence bows his head even lower.

        “Today, I would like to give a talk about sloth and how it manifests itself in acts of foolishness. How it has a multiplier effect that results in even more sins being committed. If people are the backbone of society, lazy people are the parasite that eats away at the bone, weakening its foundation and our connection to the Lord.”

         Credence keeps his eyes fixed on the worn floorboards, bracing himself for what’s coming.

         “Two days ago, someone tried to take the easy way out by handing out all his leaflets to one person. He thought that the person would do his work for him. As we can all see, the person did not do that. I do not even know if this person exists. I detest lazy people. The Lord chose a small group of people to carry out His will on Earth—and that is what we are trying to do, by sounding the alarm of the inherent evils in society. By taking the lazy way out, the message gets lost, and people remain oblivious to the threat of witchcraft.”

          _I wasn’t lying_ , Credence wants to say, but the words stick in his throat as doubt starts to fill his mind. Had he really taken the lazy way out by giving everything to the woman? He remembered the overwhelming feeling of relief when he realised that he wouldn’t have to spend the whole day trying and failing to give out leaflets. Maybe he should have followed her. He should have known it was too good to be true, he had taken a gamble and lost.

        “I want to reinforce the message that sloth is a sin, and _will not be tolerated_. I will carve this message into your flesh if I have to. Credence, get up here.”

         Modesty’s hand tightens over his own.

* * *

 

          Tina lurks outside the main hall of the church where the Scourers are gathered, hidden by a Disillusionment Charm. The church is a small, run-down building in the poorer part of town, a fair distance away from the apartment she and Queenie share. She’s read the file the Auror Office has on the New York-based Scourers, but the information in it is woefully inadequate. The three kids aren’t Mary Lou’s after all, but she’s not familiar enough with No-Maj adoption procedures to trace their background. The two older ones look like they could be final-year Ilvermorny students—seventeen or eighteen—but of course they’re not in Ilvermorny, so they have to be No-Maj. The boy Queenie ran into is sitting next to the little girl. Even from behind, his body language suggests defeat and resignation.

          Mary Lou is going on about sin and sloth, and Tina tunes her out while she wonders if the Scourers had a hand in shaping Puritan views or vice versa. A sudden movement in the corner of her eye causes her to snap to attention. The boy, Credence, is shuffling to the pulpit where Mary Lou is standing. At first, she thinks Mary Lou has invited him to preach, and she wonders if his voice is as soft and fragile as he looks. But then he unclasps the belt that hangs loosely around his waist and hands it to her, and the pieces fall into place.

          Before Mary Lou can do anything more than close her fingers around it, a jet of red light flies across the room and hits her in the chest. Tina isn’t even aware that she’s cast the spell until a loud crash rings out and she realises that Mary Lou has fallen backwards, her head striking the wall. There is a high-pitched scream, and she sees the older girl looking around herself in horror. It takes her another second to realise she’s invisible and the jet of light appears to have come out of nowhere.

          Tina claps a hand over her mouth, horrified at what she’s just done. She has just attacked a No-Maj who wasn’t directly threatening her, on the No-Maj’s home territory. There are even witnesses. For a moment, she wonders if her insider knowledge of the Auror Office will come in handy when she’s on the run as a fugitive.

         “What did you do to her?!” A voice pierces through the fog of panic that threatens to overwhelm her. The older girl, Chastity, is now glaring at Credence. Tina’s brain slowly grinds into action. For some reason, Chastity seems to think that the spell came from him. She watches as Chastity scrambles to push the youngest girl, Modesty, behind her back. “You killed her, you demon!”

          “I—I didn’t—” Credence stammers.

           Before she can think it through any further, Tina lifts the charm and strides into the room. The two girls gasp at the sight of her, and she raises her hands. “I’m the one who did it, but please, calm down. I just couldn’t let your mother—”

           “You’re a witch,” Modesty breathes. She looks from Tina to Tina’s wand. But instead of sounding disgusted or angry, she sounds fascinated.

          “Don’t talk to her,” Chastity hisses. She is still trying to shield Modesty. “I’m calling the police.”

           Tina groans inwardly. If the police get involved, it’s more than her job on the line—she could face jail time and end up a pariah, just like Dorcus Twelvetrees.  She needs to de-escalate the situation, but the girl doesn’t seem amenable. Having anti-magic propaganda drilled into her head from a young age has probably hardened her to any form of reasoning. Besides, they’ll all need to be Obliviated in the end. She takes a deep breath. “I’m really, really sorry.”

           At Tina’s next muttered spell, Chastity’s eyelids droop, and she sways on the spot. Before she can collapse to the ground, Tina is by her side, propping her up and moving her to the bench. Modesty watches, fascinated. “How did you do that?”

          “It’s just a simple sleeping spell,” Tina murmurs. “I know how bad this looks, but we don’t usually use magic offensively. And I’m sorry for attacking your mother.”

           “I’ve never seen a wand up close before,” Modesty continues. “I used to have a friend who talked to me about magic. She said that there’s a spell that causes your mouth to get hot every time you say a bad word. Her mother used to threaten her with it.”

            Tina looks strangely at her. “You have a friend who’s a witch?” MACUSA’s laws aside, she can’t imagine Mary Lou letting these children socialise with other people, let alone children who can do magic.

            Modesty scowls. “I _had_ friends. I _had_ siblings and loving parents. Then I was adopted and Ma made me cut off all contact with them.”

            “How long ago were you adopted?”

            “Around a year ago. Credence and Chastity have been living with Ma for much longer though.”

             That would explain why Modesty seems so much less antagonistic towards magic than her older sister. Tina wonders how exactly Mary Lou picks up these children, especially since it appears that Modesty has parents who are still alive. But the mention of Credence reminds her that there is one other person in the room, and she hasn’t heard a peep out of him. “I need to check on your brother.”

             With Modesty trailing behind her, Tina approaches the pulpit. Credence is huddled behind it, hugging his knees to his chest and trying to avoid looking at the prone form of his mother lying a short distance away. When he hears the sound of her footsteps, an expression of abject terror crosses his face and he presses himself against the wall, shaking.

            “Credence,” Tina whispers, dropping to a crouch in front of him. A hot pang of shame shoots through her as she realises that she is the cause of his fear. “Are you okay?”

             He doesn’t answer. One of his fists tightens around his leg, and Tina notices that the back of the hand is covered with scars—some half-healed, others still bleeding. “You’re hurt! I…might be able to help. Can you let me take a look?”

             He shakes his head frantically and tries to hide his hands behind his back, bumping them against the wall. Tina scowls to herself and momentarily wishes that she had hit the woman with a stronger curse.

             Modesty slides herself between them, gently resting one hand on his knee. Credence’s entire body stiffens upon contact, and he swings his gaze up to meet his sister’s. “Credence,” she whispers. “It’s okay. She’s nice.”

             The adopted siblings stare into each other’s eyes for what seem like forever before Credence finally looks away and inches his hands out. Tina takes one of them, moving slowly so as not to alarm him. The cuts on his palm are even deeper, and there are bruises shaped like fingerprints encircling his wrist, like someone had forcefully held his hand in place. Tina draws on her deepest reserves of self-control to prevent herself from turning her wand on Mary Lou. Instead, she directs her wand over the cuts, flipping the hand around and muttering a spell under her breath. The bleeding stops, and some of the older cuts disappear. Credence and Modesty both gape at her as she does the same with his other hand.

             “I’m not very good at healing spells, so I can’t heal them completely,” Tina says sheepishly. “I’d give you the correct potions if I had them.”

             “Potions taste disgusting,” Modesty declares. “My friend’s mother makes them potions when they don’t have money to visit the doctor. She says they taste worse than medicine.”

              “Your friend is a witch, then?”

              “Yeah. Both my parents can’t do magic, but they know it exists, and they’re friends with this family of wizards that live nearby. They have a daughter who’s a bit older than me but not old enough to go to Ilvermorny. We practice with fake wands and I swear I was once able to keep a leaf up in the air for a few seconds.”

              To Tina, it sounds like Modesty’s parents are Squibs. Unlike in Europe, where Squibs are tactfully nudged towards integration into non-magical society, they usually remain in close contact with wizarding society in the US. Part of it is MACUSA wanting to keep an eye on Squibs, to prevent them from spreading information to Scourers for whatever reason—jealousy, bitterness, trying to resolve old grudges. Tina isn’t very good with ages, but it sounds like Modesty is older than seven, the age when magical ability should have made itself obvious. Whether by pure luck or by intentional hunting, Mary Lou Barebone appears to have adopted a child from a Squib family and tried to teach her to hate magic. Does this mean Credence is also a Squib?

              She turns to Credence. “What about you? Do you remember anything about your birth family?”

              Credence looks startled. “No. It was always just Ma. I mean, she said she wasn’t my Ma. But I don’t remember.”

              “Have you ever made anything strange or unusual happen around you?” Since Credence was adopted before Modesty, Tina hopes to establish a pattern in Mary Lou’s actions. If it turns out that he’s also related to Squibs, it’s possible that Mary Lou isn’t just casting about blindly, hoping to spread anti-magic sentiment among random children. She might have actually discovered Squib families, or magical families.

              Credence doesn’t answer immediately. He picks nervously at his hands, his expression troubled. Of course he isn’t as forthcoming as Modesty about magic, given how he’s been raised, but what is it about this question that makes him so scared?

               There is a sudden crash, and green smoke starts to drift across the room. Tina instinctively casts a Bubble-Headed Charm on herself, recognising the smoke as a type of chemical produced by smoke bombs Aurors use to incapacitate targets by putting them to sleep. Before she can turn to put it on the children, her wand flies out of her hand and she finds herself staring at two unfamiliar faces and one very familiar face—the face of her direct superior, the Director of Magical Security, Percival Graves. His expression is thunderous, and with another wave of his wand, her hands are bound in front of her.

               “Obliviate everyone in this room and start working on a credible cover story,” he barks at the two men. Tina realises a second too late that they are probably from the Obliviation Squad. “We have enough trouble containing the pro-Grindelwald fanatics’ anti-No-Maj activities without having news get out that a foolish witch decided to crash a No-Maj lodging and attack them.”

                 Tina finds herself looking at the ground just like Credence, unable to meet her boss’s eyes. _I didn’t attack all of them—I only attacked one—she was abusing her kids—she might be a Scourer on the hunt—_ the thoughts bubble up inside her head, but in that moment, she is too overwhelmed by the weight of his anger and disappointment to say anything.

* * *

 

                 The office is empty, and Tina is grateful for this small mercy, that nobody is around to witness her disgrace. Graves keeps a firm grip on her as he pushes open the door to his office, a private room that sits a short distance away from the cubicles that she and the other Aurors occupy. He waves his wand, summoning a seat which he brusquely gestures for her to take. He settles himself into the huge chair behind his desk and with another small wave of his wand, her hands are free. “Your rap sheet for tonight is pretty impressive, Porpentina.”

                Tina opens her mouth, but Graves cuts her off. “Breaking into a No-Maj residence for no discernible reason. Using magic in front of multiple No-Maj. Using magic to _attack_ a No-Maj. Add these to the fact that these No-Maj are Scourers. Are you deliberately trying to provoke a war between us and them?”

                “I’m not trying to start anything between us and the Scourers!” Tina bristles. “I was investigating them—just typical surveillance, you know Harold’s the one who’s in charge of them but he’s busy with another case, and I found out that their leader’s been abusing the kids under her care, so I—”

                “Are any of those kids magical, by any chance?”

                 “What does that have to do with anything?!”

                 “You know we’re not allowed to get involved in No-Maj affairs. Our entire _department’s_ work focuses on clamping down on criminal activities that draw attention to the wizarding community. If those kids are magical, you should have sent a memo to the Protective and Custodial Department. Not swooped in there like a thug and dished out your own version of justice!”

                 “If we can Obliviate them, why can’t we just go a step further and drop the kids off with the No-Maj police? It’s not like the woman will remember she had kids in the first place,” Tina argues.

                  Graves sighs. “Porpentina, we don’t get involved in No-Maj affairs for a very simple reason—we have enough trouble managing our own society. Removing magical children from the homes of non-magical parents who don’t want them to go to Ilvermorny is hard enough because of all the people involved. Obliviation isn’t just a matter of zapping a few people. The longer the time period you want them to forget, the more important it is to create an elaborate cover story that holds up to scrutiny, and even to plant evidence where necessary. That’s why we don’t let just anyone perform Memory Charms. If people start getting suspicious, word will spread, and the Scourers are out there just waiting for us to slip up so they can expose us! They know the theory of Memory Charms—they probably tell their followers that if they wake up feeling like they’ve forgotten something important, it’s the work of a wizard. Using this spell on the Scourers themselves is like advertising our existence on one of those giant theatre marquees!”

                  Tina shifts in her seat. Everything she had done that night had been driven by pure, instinctive rage. She hadn’t considered anything beyond Obliviating everyone in the room. Graves’ point about the Scourers being on the lookout for Memory Charms reminds her of her half-formed theory. “I found out that one of the kids was adopted from a Squib family and probably can’t do magic either. I’m not so sure about the other two, but I think that their mother might be targeting Squib families and raising the kids to hate magic. We should probably look into this.”

                  “What do you mean ‘we’?”

                   “Sorry?”

                   “You risked the exposure of wizarding society by barging into a Scourer residence for no good reason, used magic in front of a bunch of Squib kids, attacked a Scourer who wasn’t threatening you, and you think you’re still fit to be an Auror?”

                   “I saw it with my own eyes!” Tina seethes. “She was going to hit him with his own belt, and I healed some of his old wounds!”

                   “Who told you that she was abusing her charges, anyway?”

                    Tina hesitates. Queenie’s Legilimency isn’t something she actively tries to keep hidden, but it’s not something she goes around telling everyone either. Letting the Director of Magical Security, who’s practically everyone’s boss, know about this seems like a rather weird thing to do after he’s spent all this time lecturing her about secrecy.

                    Graves leans back, raising an eyebrow. “Private source, then?”

                    Tina scowls. “My sister ran into the boy on the street one day and noticed something off about him.”

                    Graves sighs again. “I could have you charged for attacking a No-Maj without provocation. Don’t look at me like that, I know you were trying to protect a kid, but No-Maj affairs are none of our business. This entire affair was a completely unnecessary risk and we’ll be lucky if the Scourer doesn’t grow suspicious about the hole in her memory. This is a _surveillance_ , not an _interference_ , case for a reason. I’m shifting you to a more paperwork-heavy department so you’ll learn how to take orders and do things by the book.”

                    Tina slumps into the chair. “Will you look into the background of those children? If the Scourers are trying to adopt Squibs, it could mean that they’ve identified magical families. From what one of the girls said to me, her parents are still alive. We could reunite them!”

                    “I’ll keep this surveillance case open. But I’m only going to say this once more. You are not to go anywhere near that Scourer family, use magical or non-magical force against any of them, or talk to them about anything to do with magic. If your actions cause them to remember what the Obliviators wiped from their memory, I will know who to come after. How the Scourers raise their children are none of our concern—Scourers aren’t a part of our society. They want nothing more than to wipe us out.”

                    The adrenaline from the evening’s events is starting to wear off, and Tina yearns to fall into bed and sleep for a thousand years. She nods her assent and stands, trying not to show her boss how tired she is. But just as she is about to leave the office, Graves calls out to her. “Tina?”

                     She turns around. “Yes?”

                    Graves flashes her a shark-like grin. “You’re reporting to the Wand Permit Office from tomorrow onwards. Have fun.”

* * *

                 

                     Credence doesn’t keep track of days. They go through nearly the same motions every day—wake up at six, a brief morning devotional, breakfast, prepare breakfast for the orphans, hand out leaflets on the streets, lunch, hand out more leaflets, go back to prepare dinner for the orphans, eat dinner, a night devotional, bed. Some days stand out from the dull blur for different reasons. Sometimes he wakes with a pounding in his head and a constricted sensation in his chest, like he’s about to burst out of his own body and the slightest touch could set him off. Sometimes time appears to slip away from him as he wakes up lying on the street with no idea how he got there, his clothes scuffed and dirty and Modesty whispering _wake up, wake up, Credence, don’t let Ma catch you sleeping out here_. He wonders if he’s been possessed, since the devil seems to love no-good sinners like him.

                      So he isn’t aware what day it is when he catches sight of a brown-haired woman skulking a short distance away from where they’ve set up base to preach. All he, Chastity and Modesty need to do is stand silently behind Ma while she talks and give out leaflets to anyone interested. He much prefers this to handing out leaflets on his own, since he doesn’t need to do any talking. Not many people ever stop to listen, though.

                      The woman slips casually into the stream of people walking past them. He wonders if she’s going to disengage herself from the crowd and walk up to them—he hopes she’ll do it, because there is something familiar about her face and he wants to get a closer look at it. It’s unusual for him to remember a face when he spends most of his time with his eyes trained on the ground, but unlike most of the adult faces in his life, which he associates with scorn, disdain or pain, this one conjures up an alien feeling of comfort. For some reason, he feels he can trust her.

                      The woman doesn’t stop, but her eyes flick towards them. She’s caught him staring, and a weird emotion seems to flit across her face. He doesn’t understand why she looks so sad, and he can’t bring himself to look away from her. Then someone jostles against her and she stumbles, breaking eye contact. She doesn’t look back at them again.

                      There are many things Credence can’t remember, like life before Ma (which was much worse than life with her now, as she likes to remind him) and what exactly happens that leads to him lying in the street on certain mornings. However, this forgotten memory ignites a long-smothered spark of hope in his chest, burning away at the numbness that he usually drapes himself in.

                       Just like magic.

 

 

                       

                       

 

 

 

                       

                       

                       

**Author's Note:**

> "product of impulsive shitposting": I haven't written anything in years and did this over the course of 3 days while stressing out about my thesis, so please excuse any mistakes...! The Graves in this story is the original, pre-Grindelwald one and I'm sorry if he comes across as an ass, I love him and want to do him justice, if I ever do something like this again I'll try to make him nicer. Parts of this are also my own theories of what the kids' backgrounds are like because I found the Scourer backstory fascinating and wonder if it'll play a part in future movies.


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